Lyrics

In a phallic, stone towerWe rise and fly or stand knee deep in waterSkin is smooth and dampEvery time he crosses themAnd there are bones in bed with that child,A figure behind the glass,Me in his mouth

The man has come and gone,Aroused my photographic memoryOrphan sons and his raw hands(Were slammed in his face)

Like fire under whoresInsect, smiling eyes project rainBlaze against his teeth